


The Mousse of Doom

by kiath



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Lord of the Rings parody, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-26
Updated: 2007-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiath/pseuds/kiath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the time will soon come when shortarse one night stands will shape the fortunes of all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mousse of Doom

**Author's Note:**

> _Written to amuse Violettefemme, with whom I visited the Tate Modern gallery. There, I ate possibly the most delicious chocolate mousse *ever*. Sadly, it was the only mousse they had. Some might say... *dramatic pause* The One Mousse._
> 
> _And on that terrible joke this fic is based._
> 
> _(Respectful nods to[Alan Partridge](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUzZD9NA90I) and [Shaun of the Dead](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJwUAYmImCc).)_

The supermarket is changed. I feel it in the soft drinks aisle. I feel in the fruit and veg section. I smell it in the trolley park. Much that once was is lost, for none now work in Tesco that remember it. 

It began with the manufacturing of many tasty desserts. Three tubs of luxury French vanilla ice cream were given to the elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings; seven portions of full fat rice pudding to the dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls; and nine apple strudels were gifted to the race of men, who above all else desire power. For within these desserts was bound the strength and will to govern each race at dinner time.

But they were all of them deceived, for another dessert was made...

In a local supermarket, in the fires of a Slough production line, the Dark Lord Sainsbury forged in secret the tastiest pudding ever to control all others. And into this dessert he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. 

One chocolate mousse to rule them all. 

One by one the free boroughs of London fell to the power of the chocolate mousse. But there were some who resisted: a last alliance of local grocers and corner-shop staff marched against the armies of Sainsbury's, and in the car parks of Croydon fought for the freedom of post-dinner tasties. 

Victory was near, but the power of The Mousse could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Trevor, head of the yoghurt and cheese aisle, took up his manager's trolley and wheeled it right into Sainsbury's over-confident crotch.

Sainsbury, the enemy of the small traders of the UK, was defeated. 

The Mousse passed to Kevin, General Manager of Southend's branch of Asda, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever. But the hearts of men are easily corrupted, and the Mousse of Power has a will of its own. It betrayed Kevin, to his death, and some things that should not have been put back on the shelf were displayed for sale.

Yesterday became last Thursday, last Thursday became the other day. And for two and a half weeks The Mousse passed out of all knowledge, until, when chance came, it ensnared a new shopper. 

The Mousse came to the creature Orlando, who took it deep into the suburbs of Kent. And there he considered consuming it now and again. 

The Mousse brought to Orlando a slightly fuller refrigerator. For five days it sat in his house, and in the gloom of Orlando's fridge it waited. Darkness crept back into the kitchens of the world. Rumour grew of a chocolatey treat in the Home Counties... Whispers of a nameless fear, and the Mousse of Power perceived. 

Its time had now come.

It abandoned Orlando. But something happened then that the Mousse did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable: a shortarse one night stand. 

Elijah Wood, of the United States. 

For the time will soon come when shortarse one night stands will shape the fortunes of all.

*

'What do you mean, it's evil?'

Sean crossed his arms and stared hard at the seemingly innocent plastic tub before him. 

'Elijah... It's a _mousse_.'

'You don't think I said the same fucking thing?' Elijah replied. 'I get that it's _just_ a mousse, but Ian's totally convinced it's evil.'

There was a long silence during which Sean and Elijah gazed at the mousse, both lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Sean broke the tension by leaning forward and dropping his voice to a whisper.

'Let's eat it.'

'No!' Elijah cried, horrified. 'Didn't you listen to me? It's _evil_.'

'It's. A. Mousse,' reiterated Sean, reaching out to grab it. 

With a girly shriek, Elijah slapped Sean's hands away and cuddled the mousse to his chest. 'It's mine. My own.'

After Sean had left, Elijah spent a little more time appraising the oddly erotic mousse. Its chocolatey fluffiness was tempting, its pot so brazenly transparent. And it seemed... it seemed as if it were speaking to him. Not that that was possible, right?

'It's totally talking to me,' Elijah hissed when Ian returned. 'I'm not kidding. It's, like, whispering.'

Ian nodded solemnly. 'It's trying to return to the chilled desserts aisle of its master. You must resist it, Elijah. It's imperative that the Dark Lord Sainsbury does not get his hands on it.'

Elijah's lip trembled. His palms began to sweat. Tearing his eyes from the pudding he stared up at Ian, dreading the question he was about to ask. 

'What must I do?'

*

Ian had been quite forceful about getting the mousse out of the area as soon as possible. Something about the end of the world, or whatever. But it was two-for-one Happy Hour at Elijah's favourite bar, and who could ignore an offer like that? Especially when it turned out so many people were giving him the eye. 

Mainly goths, though. It was a bit odd. Elijah had never really seen himself as a goth magnet before. 

Which would explain why he was openly checking out the vaguely creepy guy with big ears and overlong arms who'd been hovering around a while. He wasn't ugly as such, just _different_. And crucially, not a goth. 

Not that Elijah felt he was one to judge. He did have an evil chocolate mousse in his fridge, after all. 

*

'Bloody goths are taking over the place, I tell ya,' moaned Dominic, gesturing all around with one of his monkeyish limbs. 'This used to be the kind of place you could come if you wanted to pull a Patrick Wolf wannabe; _now_ it's all emo this and goth that. Shocking! And to think it’s 2007.'

Elijah smirked. He liked Dominic's accent and his over-dramatic facial expressions. When they had finally approached one another, Dominic's face contorted into an 'ooh!' of delight at Elijah's t-shirt. 

'Threadless, right? Very cool. I like La Fraise, too, you know them?'

When Elijah shook his head, Dominic instantly dug into his pocket and pulled out a marker pen. After penning the web address on the back of Elijah's hand, Dominic grinned and wrote his own name in capital letters. After a pause, he added eleven digits beneath it. 

'My phone number,' He explained. 'Just in case you go home with one of those goths and regret it.'

Elijah raised his eyebrows and laughed. 'No fucking way, man!'

'Yeeeeah.' Dominic recapped the marker and slid it into his back pocket. 'See, the thing is, I wanna leave. Right now. And I've only just met you, so it seems a little presumptuous to assume that you'd want to leave. With me, that is. But they're kinda closing in on us, and it's giving me the heeby-jeebies.'

Elijah kept his head perfectly still and slid his gaze one way, and then the other. Dominic was right. For some reason they were suddenly closely surrounded by the creepy gothic fanclub, all decked out in baggy trousers and studded belts, their boots large enough to kill a child with one well-aimed kick. Their hair, long and lank, poked out from beneath the hoods of uniform Cradle of Filth sweatshirts.

Elijah looked back at Dominic. 

'You and I must get to Peckham.'

Dominic gave a sharp nod. 'The 63 bus. Follow me.'

And without further ado, they legged it into the high street. 

*

Ian hammered ferociously on Elijah's front door, cursing the day he left a flighty American in charge of such a huge task. There were goths simply _everywhere_ , shuffling about on the lawn, bringing down the tone. It just wouldn't do.

When the aforementioned flighty American answered the door, he was half naked, wild of hair, and distinctly unhappy.

'Jeez, Ian! _What_?'

'Is it secret? Is it safe?' Ian demanded, bustling into the house. 'Tell me!'

Elijah raised his eyes heavenward and twisted his hands together. 'Hem. Well. Here's the thing...'

Ian was climbing the stairs before Elijah could even finish his sentence. He found Dominic lying belly-down on the bed, legs bent up and arse to the wind. In his hand was the mousse pot.

It was empty. 

Ian gaped. Dominic grinned.

'Hiya. Are you Elijah's granddad?' 

Ian gasped as Dominic ran his index finger around the rim of the tub, wiping up a smear of mousse. He choked out a dramatic, 'Nooooo!' as Dominic slipped the digit between his lips and slowly dragged it out, perfectly clean. 

'Aww, Dom!' moaned Elijah, suddenly appearing behind Ian, 'We got it on the valance!' 

Dominic frowned. 'The what?'

Ian howled in dismay. 'The skirt thing round the side of the bed!'

'Oh. Well if that bothers you, you probably don't want to know how much I got in his pubes,' smirked Dom, nodding at Elijah. 

'We're doomed!' cried Ian as he ran from the bedroom. 'Doooooooomed!'

Elijah pulled back the curtain and watched him run out into the garden, dodging aimless goths as he went. He sighed. 

'Do you think we should have told him that the mousse's evil use-by date was yesterday?'


End file.
